THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Lillie  &  Doctor  Henry  H. 
Lissner 


Gadski 


The  Song  of  the 
EVENING  STARS 


BY 


ANNA  MATHEWSON 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ENRICO  CARUSO 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE   GORHAM    PRESS 


Copyright,  1911,  by  Richard  G.  Badger 


All  Rights  Reserved 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

The  Caricatures  by  ENRICO  CARUSO  are  re- 
produced through  the  courtesy  of  Marziale 
Sisca,  publisher  of  LA  FOLLIA  DI  NEW 
YORK. 

Permission  is  granted  the  author  to  reprint  the  fol- 
lowing verse: 

Mysteries  of  the  Music-Dramas,  from  THE  CEN- 
TURY MAGAZINE. 

Grand  Opera  of  the  Future,  from  LIFE. 

Irene's  Infatuation,  from  MUNSEY'S  MAGA- 
ZINE. 

What  She  Missed,  from  LIPPINCOTTS  MAG- 
AZINE. 

In  and  Out,  from  THE  THEATRE  MAGA- 
ZINE. 

Points  of   View,  from   PUCK. 


THE  GORHAM  PRESS,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Points  of  View   1 1 

Mysteries   of   the   Music-Dramas 1 6 

The  Snow-man  of  the  Sierras 17 

Seclusion    1 8 

Who?    21 

Opinions,  Ready-to-Air 22 

Not  in  Harmony 23 

Grand  Opera  of  the  Future 21 

"None  Like  Her— None!" 26 

A  Two-Gifted  Artist 29 

A  Confusion  of  Tongues 30 

How  to  Tell  Puccini's  Music 31 

A  False  Step  32 

A  Juvenile  Critic 33 

Closely  Connected    34 

Pelleas  et  Melisande 35 

Slightly  Mixed    36 

A  Parisian  Garden 37 

Louise  and  II  Trovatore 38 

Why  We  Go 42 

A  Bad  Beginning 43 

5 


830351 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  Good  Ending 45 

Extreme  Measures    46 

The  Coachman  and  Die  Walkure 49 

What  She  Missed 51 

In  and  Out 52 

Goosery    53 

Oh  Yes!    54 

The  Unaspirating  Usher   57 

Arturo  Toscanini    58 

Cleofonte  Campanini   59 

Lime-light  Limericks 

A  Word  of  Warning 62 

Bella  Alten   63 

Alessandro  Bonci 64 

Enrico  Caruso 67 

Lina  Cavalieri   68 

Emmy  Destinn    69 

Dufranne,  Dalmores,  Didur 70 

Mary  Garden    73 

Louise  Homer 74 

Riccardo  Martin   75 

Nellie  Melba 76 

Lillian  Nordica 79 

6 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Maurice  Renaud    80 

Sammarco,  Amato,  Scotti 83 

Luisa   Tetrazzini    84 

Reminiscent   Rhymes 

Oscar  Hammerstein    89 

The  Hat  That  Never  Comes  Off 90 

To  Marcella  Sembrich 93 

Exit  Emma  Eames 94 

As  to  Salome 95 

The  Conduct  of  a  Conductor 96 

Gatti-Casazza  and  Dippel   99 

Frenzied  Figures 100 

Irene's  Infatuation    101 

Painful  Possibilities 102 

Apropos  of  Two  Sopranos 105 

Geraldine   Farrar    106 

Olive  Fremstad   107 

A  Postscript  to  You 108 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Gadski   Frontispiece 

Tetrazzini    19 

Caruso    27 

Bond    39 

Farrar    47 

Toscanini    55 

Campanini    65 

Didur  71 

Martin   77 

Scotti    81 

Sammarco    85 

Oscar  Hammerstein    91 

Gatti-Casazza    97 

Slezak 103 


POINTS  OF  VIEW 

The  programme  was  Haensel  und  Gretel 

With  /  Pagliacci  to  end  ; 
The  singers  were  all  in  fine  fettle, 

And  everything  seemed  to  transcend  ; 
But  the  comments  of  people  attending 

Were  varied  as  varied  could  be, 
Were  disdainful,  uncertain,  commending — 

But,  stay!  let  us  quote  two  or  three: 


II 


Miss  Klurk  of  Brooklyn,  in  the  Family  Circle 

Why,  Mame,  you  here?    Oh,  ain't  it  great? 
We  got  in  half  an  hour  late, 

The  subway  slipped  a  trolley. 
Say,  ain't  Caruso  just  immense? 
My  waist  looks  just  like  thirty  cents; 

It  does — don't  try  to  jolly! 

Do  see  the  di'monds  on  her  head — 
That  second  box — the  girl  in  red; 

She  isn't  very  pretty. 
Gee  whizz!  those  dresses  are  a  sight; 
Why,  I  could  look — there  goes  the  light ! 

Aw,  isn't  that  a  pity? 


12 


Mr.  Reinstone  of  Chicago,  in  the  Dress  Circle 

Well,  Ikey;  dere  is  dis  to  say: 
One  wass  a  silly,  baby  play, 

And  very  liddle  funny; 
De  odder,  dough,  wass  radder  neat; 
And  den,  two  operas,  all  complete, 

Is  someding  for  de  money. 


Mrs.  John  X.  Miner  of  Montana,  in  the  Orchestra 
Stalls 

Yes,  John ;  I  wish  these  songs  was  sung 
In  somethin'  'sides  a  forrin'  tongue; 

We'd  understand  'em  better. 
My  sakes !  that  cunnin'  Gretel  child 
A-workin'  nights — it  makes  me  riled ! 

They  hadn't  oughter  let  'er. 

As  soon's  the  second  part  is  through, 
I  tell  you,  Pa,  what  we  can  do: 

(I  love  to  watch  the  waiters, 
An'  rich  folks  gotter  set  the  pace!) 
Let's  try  that  stylish  Martang  place 

For  steak  an'  stewed  petaters. 


Mrs.  Banquer,  in  her  Parterre  Box 

I  drove  my  coach  to-day — 'twas  fine! 
What's  that?    Afraid  I  must  decline, 

The  Duchess  comes  to  dinner. 
There's  Amy  in  the  Golders'  box; 
Do  see  her  brand-new  auburn  locks! 

Why,  here  comes  Bob — you  sinner! 

My  sister's  wedding?    That's  next  week; 
We  hardly  have  a  chance  to  speak 

( My  husband's  snore — please  wake  him ! ) 
The  Count  is  here,  of  course,  you  know; 
His  relatives  came  too,  and — oh, 

I'm  glad  I  didn't  take  him! 

Well,  we  must  rush  away;  my  aunts 
Expect  us  at  their  farewell  dance. 
Why,  thanks;  just  there  my  coat  is. 

Our  carriage  number?    Yes,  that's  right. 

******** 

What  opera  did  we  have  to-night? 
I  didn't  think  to  notice. 


MYSTERIES  OF  THE  MUSIC-DRAMAS 

The  Wagner  Dramas  are  replete 
With   things  one  can't  explain 
Except  as   "motives"  of   deceit 
(A  thought  that  causes  pain) : 

Perchance   the  music   teems  with   mystery 
To  fit  with  their  un-natural  history. 

A  swan,  on   nothingness  afloat, 

Transforms  into  a  boy; 
A  dove  propels  a  man  and  boat 
With  perfect  ease  and  joy; 

The   ravens   fly  with   bat-like   quiver: 
And  dwarfs  can  breathe  beneath  a  river. 

A  birdling  with  a  human  voice 

Gives  very  straight  advice, 
But  never  flies  straight  on  by  choice 
When  it  can  zigzag  thrice. 

How   queer   that  rainbow,   steeply   arching, 
Whereon  stout  vocalists  go  marching! 

But  worse,  when  wingless  horses  fly; 

Or,   puffing  real   hot  air, 
A  dragon  winks  his  emerald  eye, 
With  megaphonic  blare — 

O  Wagner,  wondrous  music-maker, 
Thou  wert  the  primal  nature-faker! 


16 


THE  SNOW-MAN  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

There  were  fire  and  warmth  in  the  Bright- Yellow 
West, 

And  the  score  had  a  vigor  titanic; 
The  principals  sang  with  a  passionate  zest, 

And  the  miners  were  hotly  volcanic : 
But  the  Sheriff,  in  temper  and  temperature, 

Was  an  iceberg — from  A  unto  izzard — 
Whose  air  was  so  chilly  it  helped  to  procure 

The  terrific  and  audible  blizzard. 

When  he  entered  the  cabin  that  turbulent  night, 

Why,  the  "cold  deck"  of  cards  grew  still  colder! 
The  blanket-clad  Girl  was  congealing  with  fright, 

So  she  give  him  a  bitter  cold  shoulder. 
That  was,  maybe,  why  snow  on  his  shoulder  and 
hat 

(Which  the  storm  had  been  angrily  pelting), 
When  near  a  hot  lamp  for  a  long  time  he  sat, 

Failed  to  show  any  symptoms  of  melting. 

Though  the  "boys"  shivered  long  'neath  his  bleak 
glassy  eye 

(Glace  eye,  when  it  turned  on  the  hero), 
The  frigid  revenge  which  they  took  by  and  by 

Was  to  freeze  him  out,  far  below  zero: 
For  the  lynching  fell  through  that  he  wished   to 
attend — 

He  was  frostily  anxious  to  hold  one — 
But  he  never  thawed  out  from  beginning  to  end, 

And  the  day  he  got  left  was  a  cold  one! 


SECLUSION 

If  ever  a  man  has  need  to  hide, 

There  is  one  safe  place  to  do  it — 
Just  one  sure  spot  in  a  world  so  wide, 

If  the  fugitive  only  knew  it. 

The  person  who  dwells  in  a  hermit's  den 
Is  observed  by  the  summer  boarders; 

The  story  gets  into  the  papers  then 
And  his  anchorite  plan  disorders. 

The  sinner  who  sails  to  a  tropic  clime, 

With  a  hoard  of  embezzled  money, 
Soon   learns  he   can   spend   neither  cash   nor   time 

In  ways  that  are  one  bit  funny. 

He  might  have  remained  in  gay  New  York 

Undisturbed  by  apprehension, 
To  laugh  and  to  sing  and  to  shout  and  to  talk, 

Yet  never  attract  attention: 

The  only  secluded  place  to  stay 

Exhibits  itself  before  us, 
But  nobody  ever  looks  that  way — 

The  masculine  opera  chorus! 


18 


Tetrazzini 


WHO? 

Who  sit  or  stand  'way  up  above, 
Because  "gran'  o-pe-ra"  they  love 
(Yet  show  strange  evidence  thereof)  ? 

Perhaps  you  guess. 
Who,  from  the  instant  they  are  in, 
Do  agitate  their  lips  and  chin, 
Resulting  in  a  verbal  din? 

You've   heard    them — yes? 

Who  laugh  while  overtures  play  low, 
And  cause  the  opening  chorus  woe 
By  humming  melodies  they  know? 

(Indeed,  they  do  so!) 
Who,  when  He  enters,  clap  their  fill  ; 
Then   for  a  brief,  brief  time  keep   still; 
But  shout,  before  he  ends,  a  shrill 

Bravo,  Cah-ROO-so? 

Who  squirm  with  ecstasy  when  he 

Attacks  and  hits  a  big  high  D, 

And  then  let  loose  their  howls  of  glee 

Forti — f  ortissimi  ? 

Who  break  the  opera-story's  thread 
With  wild  applause  at  moments  dread, 
And  oft,  indeed,  recall  the  dead? 

Italianissimi ! 


21 


OPINIONS,  READY-TO-AIR 

She  goes  to  grand  opera  one  night  every  week, 
So,  certainly,  she  is  entitled  to  speak 

(And  she  does!)  with  much  force  on  that  topic; 
She'll  analyze  voices  and  criticize  themes, 
Just  what  and  just  why  she  dislikes  or  esteems, 

Down  to  points  that  are  quite  microscopic. 

She  knows  when  an  opera  is  due  to  appear 
(The  cast  in  her  eye  and  the  music  by  ear, 

Whether  classic  or  lightly  romantic) ; 
She  mentions  all  artists  that  ever  have  sung — 
Impossible  names  smoothly  roll  from  her  tongue — 

And  their  salaries,  simply  gigantic. 

But  meeting  her  suddenly,  early  to-day, 

As  down  to  her  breakfast  she  wended  her  way 

By  the  light  of  electrical  tapers, 
I  cried,  "Did  you  like  the  new  opera  last  night 
And  all  the  new  singers?"    She  stammered  in  fright, 

"Don't  know  yet — I've  not  read  the  papers!" 


22 


NOT  IN  HARMONY 

A  prima  donna,  young  and  fair, 

Inspired  a  poet's  lay; 
And  little  Cupid  hurried  there, 
Prepared  to  make  a  stay: 

He  thought  the  singer  would  rejoice 
To  read,  "Thou  hast  a  siren's  voice." 

The  prima  donna  was  unlearned 

In  legendary  lore; 

She  read  that  line,  the  rest  she  spurned 
And  into  fragments  tore; 

She  only  knew — that  fiery  star — 
The  siren  of  a  motor-car! 


GRAND  OPERA  OF  THE  FUTURE 

In  the  good  old  days  of  opera,  we  are  told,  the 
singers  could 

Gain  applause  by  merely  singing,  while  they  posed 
like  blocks  of  wood; 

Not  for  motion  or  emotion  did  their  raptured  hear- 
ers care, 

When  the  notes  of  lucent  beauty  floated  on  the  lis- 
tening air. 

Songsters  of  our  generation  who  desire  to  attract 
May  be  musical  and  comely,  but,  above  all  else, 

must  act. 

Realism  is  demanded,  situations  all  aflame — 
Operatic  melodrama  soon  may  be  its  proper  name. 

Once   sopranos,    faint  or   dying,   gently    sank   on 

cushioned  chairs, 
Now   they   stagger,    plunge   and    gyrate    headlong 

down  a  flight  of  stairs. 
Tosca's  jump  is  fraught  with  peril   (substitutes  no 

more  allowed) ; 
Siegfried's  full-length,  backward  tumble  never  fails 

to  charm  the  crowd; 
Melisande  has  a  headache  after  Golaud  pulls  her 

hair; 
And  Louise's  maddened  father  nails  her  with  that 

kitchen-chair ; 
All  of  those  who  fight  in  duels  suffer  now  from 

stabs  and  shocks; 
And  Brunnhilde's  bucking  broncho  often  lands  her 

in  a  box! 


So,  in  time,  our  active  artists  from  the  footlights 
may  be  missed, 

With  their  names  enrolled  forever  on  the  casualty 
list. 

Then  the  management  will  furnish  acrobats  and 
circus  queens, 

While  the  prompter  runs  the  singing  on  some  mus- 
ical machines! 


"NONE  LIKE  HER— NONE!" 

Old  Tymes  remarked  to  Nouveau  Riche: 

"The  singers  now  are  few 
Who  waken  thrills  by  lovely  trills, 
The  way  they  used  to  do; 

The  art  of  song  is  dying  fast; 
The  great  bel  canto  days  are  past." 

Then  Nouveau  Riche  replied  in  haste, 

For  wise  he'd  fain  appear: 
"Yes,  yes,  that's  so;  not  one,  you  know, 
Like  those  we  used  to  hear. 

She  certainly  deserves  your  praise — 
None  like  Belle  Canto,  nowadays!" 


26 


Caruso 


A  TWO-GIFTED  ARTIST 

Many  folks  are  surprised   at  the  way 
That   Caruso   can   sketch;   but   they   say 

The  directors  foresaw 

Just  how  well  he  could   draw — 
He  can  draw  a  full  house  any  day! 


29 


A  CONFUSION  OF  TONGUES 

With  Tannhaiiser  almost  as  German  as  beer, 

It  seemed,  to  the  Teutonic  herds 
As  they  flocked  in  to  hear  it,  this  cry  sounded  queer 
"Correct  libretto  of  th'  op'ra  here, 

English  'n'  Eyetalian  words!" 


HOW  TO  TELL  PUCCINI'S  MUSIC 

With  "Butterfly"  as  our  example, 

Like  this  the  formula  would  be: 
Take  first,   Italian  style,  in  ample 

And  flowing  measures,  sweet  and  free; 
Use  many  fragmentary  phrases 

But  never  old-time,  long-drawn  airs; 
Now  add  a  few  Wagnerian  blazes, 

To  elevate  all  listening  hairs; 
Spice  well  in  Japanesy  manner; 

And  mix  in,  often  as  you  can, 

A  bit  of  bright  Star-Spangled  Banner — 

******** 

(If  not  Puccini,  it's  Cohan!) 


A  FALSE  STEP 

Mrs.  Malaprop,  chatting  of  opera  to  us, 
Made  The  Pipe  of  Desire  her  theme; 

But,  as  usual,  she  twisted  the  name  of  it — thus: 
"That  American  one,  The  Pipe  Dream!" 

Then  she  raved  o'er  the  dance  of  that  lithe  Rus- 
sian girl, 

And  we  warmly  agreed  with  her  too, 
Till   at  last  she  exclaimed    (did   she   mean   a  pas 

seulf)  : 
"How  I  liked  her  faux  pas;  didn't  you?" 


A  JUVENILE  CRITIC 

Oh,  yes!  I've  been  to  op'ra  twice. 
To-night  I  think  is  pretty  nice; 

I  came  with  darling  Mother. 
But  if  they're  all  of  'em  like  these, 
I  don't  believe  I'll  ever  tease 

To  come  and  see  another. 

I  went  to  Mignon  first;  you  know 
She's  just  a  girl  that's  in  a  show, 

And — don't  you  think  it's  funny? — 
When  she  got  mad  and  wouldn't  dance, 
They  never  offered  us  a  chance 

Of  getting  back  our  money! 

This  Gretel  is  as  bad  as  bad ; 
She  made  her  mother  feel  so  sad! 

But  she  went  round  a-skipping; 
She  gobbled  berries,  too — and  got 
Some  lovely  angels,  'stead  of  what 

She  should  have  had — a  whipping! 


CLOSELY  CONNECTED 

The  gentleman  posed  as  a  musical  guide, 

So  he  gave  his  opinions  with  force: 
When  asked  "Who  wrote  Tosca?"  he  promptly  re- 
plied, 

"It's  by  Toscanini,  of  course!" 


34 


PELLEAS  ET  MELISANDE 

Stranger  rhythm,  weirder  notes 
Never  came  from  singers'  throats: 
In  the  orchestra  there  rise 
Harmonies  in  queer  disguise: 
Curious  chords  in  dismal  daze 
Ramble  through  a  magic  maze: 
Semblance  of  a  fleeting  tune 
Lapses  in  a  tonal  swoon: 
Bland,  majestic,  rippling,  mild, 

Eerie,  mystic,  morbid,  wild — 

*         *    "     *         *         *         * 

What  to  call  it?     Harken  well, 
While  the  notes  erratic  wander: 

It  is  music  all  pell-mell — 
Pell-eas   et    Mel-isande ! 


35 


SLIGHTLY  MIXED 

Miss  Azure-Bloode  remarked,  "This  year 

The  opera  really  is  sublime; 
We  were  immensely  pleased  to  hear 

Slezak,  last  night,  a  second  time." 

Said  Mrs.  Knewly-Ritch,  "Oh  dear, 

How  much  you've  missed  in  seasons  past! 

Why,  I've  heard  Slezak  every  year; 
It  always  has  a  splendid  cast!" 


A  PARISIAN  GARDEN 

Mary,  Mary, 
Lithe  and  airy! 

How  does  the  Garden  grow? 
With  notes  like  bells, 
And  style  that  tells, 

And  youthfulness  aglow. 


37 


LOUISE  AND  IL  TROVATORE 

or, 
Romance  Versus  Realism 

Louise  met  Manrico  in  stageland  one  day, 

And,  waiting  for  no  presentation, 
She  cried,   "Cher  Monsieur,   you   are   very   passe! 
What  use  in  the  world  is  a  troubadour,  pray? 

A  quite  out  of  date  occupation! 

"Mes  yeux!   you're   a  sight   in   your   doublet   and 
hose, 

That  plume  on  your  chapeau  looks  tipsy. 
A  musical  tramp  is  an  imbecile  pose ; 
You  might  have  a  home  and  live  well,  if  you  chose. 

(A  has  your  demented  old  gypsy!) 

"You   scrimmage   with    swords — your   idea   of    ro- 
mance— 

A  foolish  and  risky  proceeding! 
Your  lady-love,  meanwhile,  despairingly  chants 
Or,  sighing  and  sobbing,  falls  into  a  trance — 

Mon  Dieu,  what  a  life  you  are  leading!" 

Manrico  replied  to  the  lively  Louise: 

"Avaunt,  thou   impertinent  huzzy! 
Arrayed  in  a  shirt-waist,  a  hat  like  a  cheese, 
A  stiff,  ugly  collar  and,  worse  than  all  these, 

A  pompadour,  ratted  and  fuzzy! 


Bond 


"I  tell  thee  no  audience  ever  could  care 

For  seeing  old  women  make  gruel, 
For  polishing  kettles  or  mending  a  tear, 
Or  righting — with  swords?     Nay;  an  old  kitchen- 
chair! 

Such  murder  of  Art  is  too  cruel. 

"And  nobody  died  in  thy  weak  little  play," 

His  tone  grew  so  tragic  it  thrilled  her. 
"To  poison,  starvation  and  axe  we  were  prey, 
Completing    the    tale.      'Tis,    methinks,    the    best 

way — " 

##**####* 

And  so  he  impressively  killed  her! 


WHY  WE  GO 

Now,  why  do  we  go  to  the  opera? 

Because — 

We  are  asked  to  their  box  by  the  dear  Dedly-Baws ; 

Or  because — 

To  go  is  obeying  society's  laws; 

Or  because — 

It  is  needful  to  see  if  they  wear  spangled   gauze; 

Or  because — 

The  gifted  soprano  a  crowd  always  draws  ; 

Or  because — 

'Tis  exciting  to  join  in  the  joyful  applause; 

Or  because — 

As  critics,  we're  hoping  to  find  a  few  flaws; 

Or  because — Let  us  pause, 

And  explain  it  by  saying  we  go  "just  because." 

(Yes;  some  go  because  they  love  opera.) 


42 


A  BAD  BEGINNING 

The  early  bird  always  gets  something  unpleasant 
(His    breakfast,    we're   told,    is    quite    likely    to 

squirm ) , 
And  early  attendants  on  opera  at  present 

The  truth  of  the  opening  statement  confirm. 
You've  studied  the  program  and  read  the  libretto; 
The  overture  starts  like  a  soft  summer  breeze ; 
Then,  pierced  by  a  voice  like  the  sharpest  stiletto, 
You  rise  in  response  to  a 

"Let  us  pass,  please." 
Patrons  to  left  of  you,  matrons  to  right  of  you 

(Passage  in  front  and  your  seat  on  an  aisle)  — 
Mussing  your  clothes  and  your  hair,  make  a  fright 

of  you, 
Pushing  their  way  with  a  scowl  or  a  smile. 

The  overture's  finished,  for  up  goes  the  curtain 

(As  seen  o'er  the  heads  of  the  incoming  throng)  ; 
You  snatch  a  brief  glimpse  of  the  stage,  but  it's 

certain 

That  little  you'll  hear  of  the  opening  song. 
"Celeste  Aida — "     Oh,  can't  they  keep  quiet? 

(The  tenor  who  sings  is  the  greatest  of  great.) 
But  the  racket  goes  on  like  a  Donnybrook  riot — 
Why,  why  should  you  suffer  because  they  come 

late? 
"Celeste  Ah-ee— " 

"You  have  taken  my  seat,  madam." 


43 


"Haven't!" 

"You  have!" 

"Put  him  out,  usher,  please!" 
"Third  to  the  left,  sir." 

"You're  right  on  my  feet,  madam." 
"There  goes  my  hat!" 

"Hush,  hush,  hush!" 

"Did  you  sneeze?" 

Early  birds  certainly  do  get  the  worst  of  it: 
Still,  as  result  of  their  agonized  words, 

Changes  may  come  so  they'll  yet  hear  the  first  of  it — 
Then  there'll  be  warbling  from  these  surly  birds ! 


44 


A  GOOD  ENDING 

The   opera   was   concluding   with    a   weird    poetic 

thrill, 
The    audience — intent,    entranced — sat    absolutely 

still ; 
No  sound  to  break  illusion,  save  the  falling  of  a 

tear. 
"Is  this  New  York?"   I  marvelled,   "And,  if  so, 

what  is  the  year?" 
For  memory  flashed  a  search-light,  and  with  horror 

I  could  see 
A  panoramic  vision  of  the  way  it  used  to  be: 

Twenty  minutes  before  the  end, 
Suburb-dwellers  their  way  would  wend  ; 
Jerseyites  were  the  first  to  stamp 
Over  our  toes  with  ruthless  tramp; 
Fifteen  minutes — Long  Islanders  went, 
Falling  down  steps  in  their  mad  descent; 
Ten  minutes — Harlemites  having  mishaps, 
Losing  their  overshoes,  purses  and  wraps; 
Five — Brooklyn  Bridgers  were  off  with  a  rush, 
While  a  minority  feebly  said,  "Hush!" 
Two — all  the  boxes  were  empty  by  now, 
So,  when  the  singers  came  forward  to  bow, 
Out  of  the  thousands  now  scattered  abroad 
Thirty-three  people  had  stayed  to  applaud. 

"That  mobbish  time  is  past,"  I  thought.  "How 
blissful  this  does  seem! 

We're  civilized — "  But  here  I  woke  from  that  too- 
perfect  dream. 


45 


EXTREME  MEASURES 

Sec;  with  musical  emotion  brimming  o'er — 

The  tenor's  eyes; 
List;  with  lyrical  devotion  do  they  soar — 

The  tenor's  sighs; 
All  entranced  we  hear  them  float 
From  a  highly  valued  throat; 
And  we  also  sometimes  note 

The  tenor's  size. 

Towering    toward    the   scenic    heaven,    seven    feet 
four — 

Slezak  the  Great; 
While  reversed   to  four  feet  seven — little  more — 

Is  Bond's  state. 
Art  is  measured  not  by  feet, 
But  if  these  extremes  should  meet 
On  the  stage — why,  here's  a  treat 

For  which   we   wait! 


Farrar 


THE  COACHMAN  AND  DIE  WALKURE 

Say,  Bill ;  I  been  to  see  the  play 
They  call  "Gran'  Op'ra  Matinee;" 

'Tis  dagoes,  mostly  run  it. 
We  drive  the  Madam  there  each  week, 
An'  I  been  figurin'  to  sneak 

Inside;  an'  so  I  done  it. 

"Here,    Tom ;"    says    I,    "drive    round    the    block 
Whilst  I  go  in."     He  didn't  knock, 

But  took  the  lines  all  aisy. 
It  cost  a  dollar,  jus'  to  stand ; 
An'  though  there  was  a  fine  big  band, 

The  chunes  they  played  was  crazy. 

Die — Somethin'  was  the  name;  an'  sure 
So  dead  a  show  I'd  not  endure, 

An'  hope  to  keep  on  livin': 
The  secon'  act  had  jus'  begun — 
Now,  if  the  rest  was  like  that  one, 

Them  dagoes  need  forgivin'! 

First  was  a  man  wid  jus'  one  eye 
(His  looks  would  make  a  filly  shy!)  — 

Yes;  'tis  the  trut'  I'm  tellin'. 
A  girl  was  standin'  overhead ; 
"Ho,  ho,  hi,  ho,"  was  all  she  said — 

Ye  never  heard  such  yellin' ! 


49 


I  couldn't  laugh  at  suchlike  stuff; 
But  when  I'd  had  about  enough, 

Another  girl's  arrivin': 
Well,  man;  that  show  was  purty  cheap — 
She  drove  a  team  of  faked-up  sheep 

An'  had  no  style  in  drivin'! 

The  usher  says,  "Ye'd  better  bide  ; 
On  flyin'  horses  soon  they'll  ride." 

I  wonder  did  he  mean  it? 
Belike  'tis  some  new  foreign  way; 
I'm  sorry,  now,  I  didn't  stay, 
Indeed,  I  oughter  seen  it. 

Though  'taint  believable,  of  course, 
To  harness  wings  upon  a  horse, 

It's  bothered  me  all  mornin'. 
If  Madam  gets  that  in  her  mind — 
An  airyplane-an'-horse  combined, 

Ye'll  hear  me  givin'  warnin ! 


WHAT  SHE  MISSED 

The  lady  was  superbly  gowned, 

Her  hat  was  in  accord; 

Through   gold   lorgnette  she  smiled   or   frowned 
Her  a's  were  very  broad; 

She  wore  a  plutocratic  name, — 
In  short,  a  most  imposing  dame. 

Of  Parsifal  I  chanced  to  talk; 

She  waved  my  words  aside, — 
"I  cahn't  endure  it  in  New  Yawk;, 
I  greatly  miss,"  she  cried, 

"The  atmosphere,  that  all  allow 
It  has  in  Ober-Ammergau !" 


IN  AND  OUT 

He  took  her  to  the  opera-house  to  hear  a  matinee; 
And  wishing  to  impress  her  (for  a  wealthy  maid 

is  she), 
He  got  the  most  expensive  seats,  he  bought  a  big 

bouquet, 

Then  (he  is  impecunious),  but  fifty  cents  had  he. 
However,   luckily   for  him,   she   lived   up    Harlem 

way, 
So,  therefore,  they  would  take  the  Sub.  and  have 

no  cab  to  pay. 

She   gave   him,    when   they   started   out,    a   violet- 
scented  note, 

And  as  they  hurried  to  the  train  he  mailed  it  in 
a  box. 

He  talked  with  grandeur  while  they  rode;  he  told 

an  anecdote, 

Quite   casually,   about   his   large   investments   in 
good  stocks; 

He  mentioned   family  estates,  without  a  trace  of 
guile, 

The  charming  girl  attending  with  a  most  receptive 
smile. 

They  entered  when  orchestral  airs  had  just  com- 
menced to  float, 
But  joy  is  brief!  that  festive  youth  received  some 

sudden  shocks; 
He  could  not  gain  admittance  with  a  violet-scented 

note — 

His  envelope  of  tickets?     In  the  Harlem  letter- 
box! 
No  sequel  hangs  upon  these  lines,  they  end  as  they 

begin: 

He  took  her  to  the  opera-house — he  did  not  take 
her  in! 

52 


This  damsel — fashioned  like  a  lithesome  eel, 

With  humpy  puffs  upon  her  bandaged  head, 
And  skirts  bound  tightly  just  above  her  heel 

To  mark  the  mincing  tread 
Displayed  between  the  acts  when,  with  a  smile, 
She  waggles  up  and  down  the  lengthy  aisle — 

For  Konigskinder  does  she  care  a  crumb? 

Nay,  nay;  for  conversation  she  has  come. 

Although  the  winsome  Goose-girl  tends  her  pets, 
Although  the  lovely  notes  arise  and  sink, 

This  giggling,  gaggling  damsel's  voice  upsets 
The  art  of  Humperdinck ; 

Until  we  wish,  in  helpless,  seething  rage, 

That  geese  were  not  allowed,  save  on  the  stage, 
Or,  since  her  manners  are  so  much  amiss, 
The  well-trained  flock  might  look  her  way  and 
hiss ! 


53 


OH  YES! 

"Oh  no!  we  never  mention  him, 
His  name  is  never  heard 

Old  Song 

The  operatic  legion 

Has  a  singer  from  Algiers, 
And  the  listeners  are  delighted 

Every  time  that  he  appears; 
But,  attempting  to  commend  him, 

They  discover  with  dismay 
That  he  has  a  name  unusual, 

Which  they  dare  not  try  to  say — 
They  feel  embarrassed,  even  silly, 
When  tackling  "D-i-n-h  Gilly." 

We  resolved  to  praise  his  singing, 

His  enunciation  fine, 
And  his  profile,  a  la  Dante, 

Or  his  feet  of  shapely  line; 
So  we  sought  for  information 

From  a  Personage-Who-Knows, 
On  whose  French-Algerian  knowledge 

We  could  tranquilly  repose — 
We  grasped  the  syllables  so  eely, 
And  now  serenely  say  "Daahn  Zheely!" 


54 


Toscanini 


THE  UNASPIRATING  USHER 

The  usher  is  a  mystic  combination: 

At  times,  despotic  as  a  Czar  of  Russia, 
On  ladies'  hats  he  shows  determination 

To  (verbally)  sit  down  and  be  a  crusher; 
But  never  checks  disturbing  conversation 

Among   the   type   described   as   "giddy   gusher;" 
'Tis  then  we  wish  he  felt  an  aspiration 

To  add  an  aspirate,  and  be  a  husher! 


57 


ARTURO  TOSCANINI 

He  leads,  without  a  sign  of  score, 

The  Gotterdammerung; 
And  brings  out  beauties  heretofore 
Unknown,  unheard,  unsung, 

From  blitheful  songs  to  lyric  sermons — 

He  beats  the  Dutch — that  is,   the  Germans! 


CLEOFONTE   CAMPANINI 

Campanini — what  is  he? 

Surely  not  a  mortal  man; 
Busy  bees  could  blush  to  see 
How  he  works :  what  is  his  plan  ? 
Answer:    Well,  we  have  a  notion 
That  he  is — Perpetual  Motion. 


59 


LIME-LIGHT  LIMERICKS 


A  WORD  OF  WARNING 

"These  Limericks"  (perchance  you'll  say, 

Dear  reader,  in  your  haste) 
"Should  not  have  been  arranged  this  way, 
In  order  so  misplaced!" 

But  pause,  before  you  grow  frenetic, 
And  note,  the  plan  is  alphabetic. 


62 


BELLA 
ALTEN 

Of  ALTEN,  so  childlike  and  gay, 
"Alten   Bella"  we  never  shall  say; 
For  she'll  always  be  young, 
From  her  toes  to  her  tongue, 
In  a  mettlesome  Gretelsome  way! 


ALESSANDRO 
BONCI 

Bonny  BONCI    (a  vocal  first-rater 
Who  was  recognized  sooner  than  later) 
Comes  short,  in  one  sense, 
But  his  voice  is — "immense," 
For  its  beauty  grows  greater  and  greater. 

His  style,  in  a  way,  is  colossal; 
His  tones  are  as  true  as  a  throstle, 

Which,  though  not  a  large  bird, 

Always  makes  itself  heard; 
In  short,  he's  bel  canto's  apostle. 


64 


Campanini 


ENRICO 
CARUSO 

Who  sails  the  high  C's  like  CARUSO? 
That  musical  Robinson  Crusoe, 

Remote  and  alone 

In  a  class  of  his  own, 
Since  no  other  tenor  can  do  so. 

To  proverbs  we  oft  are  beholden ; 
"Silver  speech"  was  a  favorite  olden, 

But  no  longer  true  so 

Concerning  CARUSO, 
Whose  voice,  not  his  silence,  is  golden. 


LINA 
CAVALIERI 

If  LINA  should  ever  be  leaner, 

Our  eyesight  would  have  to  grow  keener ; 

She  is  beautiful — yes; 

But  if  "beautifully  less," 
We  might  not  be  sure  we  had  seen  her. 


68 


EMMY 
DESTINN 

Her  singing  wins  deep  admiration; 
Her  acting,  an  equal  ovation. 

DESTINN — come,  year  by  year, 

Till  this  land  shall  appear 
To  be,  some  day,  your  sole  Destin-nation ! 


HECTOR         CHARLES 
DUFRANNE    DALMORES 

DUFRANNE  rises  far  from  the  level; 
And   in   DALMORES'   art   all   must  revel; 

While  of  DIDUR  they  say 

(In  a  flattering  way), 
As  Mephisto  he  acts  like  the  devil! 


70 


Didur 


MARY 
GARDEN 

The  GARDEN  in  beauty  upspringing, 

Whose  name  through   the  world  now  is  ringing, 

Shows  a  consummate  art 

In  creating  a  part; 
But  is  fonder  of  speaking  than  singing. 


73 


LOUISE 
HOMER 

A  Homer  was  loved  by  the  Greeks 
(Same  'Omer  of  whom  Kipling  speaks)  ; 

With  Persians  a  claim 

Has  Omar  to  fame; 
And  for  Homer  the  eagle  now  shrieks. 

This  HOMER,  sweet  HOMER  of  ours 
Mid  contraltos  a  great  "Singer"  towers; 

For  she  looms  up  apart 

In  her  musical  art 
And  highly  dramatical  powers. 


74 


RICCARDO 
MARTIN 

MARTIN'S  exquisite  voice  is  exact; 
His  appearance  is  apt  to  attract; 

And,  of  course,  growing  older, 

His  genius  won't  smolder 
But  burst  into  blaze,  so  he'll  act. 

This  son  of  "Kaintuck"  has  been  plucky 
(Which  is  very  much  better  than  lucky)  ; 

We  suppose  he's  from  Breathitt 

Because,  sure  as  death,  it 
Sounds  right  for  a  voice  from  Kentucky! 


75 


NELLIE 
MELBA 

The  title  that  seems  to  belong 
To  MELBA  is  Empress  of  Song: 
Her  voice — high  or  low, 
Or  where  else  it  may  go, 
Has  never  been  heard  to  go  wrong. 


Martin 


LILLIAN 
NORDICA 

When  NORDICA  goes  from  the  stage 
Her  adorers  their  grief  may  assuage, 

For — the  plan  is  adroit — 

In  her  Yankee  Baireuth 
She  can  still  tread  the  boards  for  an  age. 


79 


MAURICE 
RENAUD 

RENAUD  is  an  artist  who'll  paint 
Any  portrait — romantic  or  quaint; 
If  he  tried  to  do  so 
He  could  be  the  whole  show, 
With   a  range  up   from   sinner   to  saint. 


80 


Scotti 


MARIO  PASQUALE    ANTONIO 

SAMMARCO    AMATO          SCOTTI 

SAMMARCp,  AMATO  and  SCOTTI: 
Enough  to  drive  any  one  dotty — 

Three  baritone  graces, 

All  fit  for  first  places! 
(Let's  dodge  a  description  so  knotty.) 


LUISA 
TETRAZZINI 

TETRAZZINI  the  world  has  astounded, 
Wherever  her  high  notes  have  sounded: 

Her  feet  and  her  smile 

All  her  hearers  beguile, 
Even    while    they    confess    she's — well — rounded! 


Sammarco 


REMINISCENT  RHYMES 


Unless  you  love  the  "good  old  times'' 

(From  two  to  ten  years  back  they're  dated), 
Skip  past  these  Reminiscent  Rhymes, 
Which,  more  or  less,  are  antiquated; 
Not  prizable  antiques — but  yet 
They   claim    a   place,    "lest   we   forget." 


88 


OSCAR  HAMMERSTEIN 

O-nly  natural,  perhaps,  for  him  to  like  sensations, 
H-is  initials,  even,  take  the  form  of  exclamations — 
OH! 

HO!! 


THE  HAT  THAT  NEVER  COMES  OFF 

Upon  the  brow  of  Hammerstein 

(Where  laurels,  too,  are  twining) 
By  day,  by  night,  a  hat  doth  shine, 
Whose  wearer  can  no  time  assign 
To  slumbering  or  dining. 

No  wonder  that  it  brightly  beams: 

Beneath  it  he  is  mapping 
A  swirl  of  brilliant,  novel  schemes, 
And    thoughts   like   incandescent   gleams 

Electrical  are  snapping. 

Since  man  and  hat  achieve  their  aim 

Of  never  being  sat  on, 
Why  not  perpetuate  their  fame 
And,  more  appropriately,  name 

That  opera-house — Man-hat-on  ? 


90 


Oscar  Hammerstein 


TO  MARCELLA  SEMBRICH 

Blithe  sovereign:  reigning  alone 
In  a  kingdom  completely  your  own, 

When  you  took  off  the  crown 

And  the  scepter  laid  down — 
What  a  queen  of  all  hearts  left  the  throne! 


93 


EXIT  EMMA  EAMES 

Among   the  most   lustrous   of   names 
Shone  that  of  our  elegant  Eames; 

Though  some  said,  "How  droll! 

She  enacts  every  role 
With    the    pomp    of    Colonial    Dames." 


94 


AS  TO  SALOME 

While  controversial  breezes  blow 

From  every  point  of  compass, 
And  streams  of  fresh  opinion  grow 
To  seas  of  rage  and  rumpus — 

Thus  advertised,  her  worth  enhancing, 
Salome,  everywhere,  is  dancing. 

But  leaving  out  each  pro  and  con 

(Con-tempt  or  pro-testations) , 
A  fact  remains  that  bears  upon 
The  gayety  of  nations, — 

The  dictionary's  name  division 
Presents  Salome's  definition. 

One  would  suppose  the  name  might  mean 

A  something  weird   (or  Wilde), 
Adapted  to  an  Eastern  scene 
The  opposite  of  mild; 

But,   though  of  frenzy  and  decease  full. 
Salome  is  defined  as  "peaceful"! 


95 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  A  CONDUCTOR 

The  Hertz  that  once  in  opera's  halls 

An  orchestra  misled — 
Whose  violins  raised  caterwauls 

And  horns  could  raise  the  dead — 
Allowed  no  singer  of  those  days 

Above  the  din  to  soar 
Unless  they  chose  to  chant  their  lays 

With  yell  and  shriek  and  roar. 

But,  all  at  once,  the  scene  grew  bright! 

No  more  the  racket  swells; 
We  hear  distinctly  and  aright 

The  tale  the  music  tells. 
The  leader  now  has  changed  his  aim ; 

Sweet  harmonies  abound, 
Since  Mahler,  "like  a  poultice,  came, 

To  heal  the  blows  of  sound." 


Gatti-Casazza 


GATTI-CASAZZA  AND  DIPPEL 

To  join  the  Ananias  Club 
Old  proverbs  have  begun: 
An  adage  of  our  early  youth 
No   longer   seems   to   tell    the   truth- 
Two  Heads  were  worse  than  one! 


99 


FRENZIED  FIGURES 

Vaunt  not  the  Uncle  Thomas  show 

With  twin-like  Topsies,  gaily  prancing; 
Or  three-ringed  circus,  where  we  go 

To  cross  our  eyes  with  sights  entrancing ; 
For  Grandest  Opera  came  in  view 
With  2  Directors — Count  Them — 2! 

2   Choruses — oh,   count  them,   too! 
Italian   one ;    the  other,    German ; 
Race  riots  will,  perhaps,  ensue 

Or  war  (as  once  defined  by  Sherman)  ; 
Their  color  line's  not  white  and   jet, 
But   Teuton — Latin,    blonde — brunette. 

2  Orchestras — oh,  yes,  indeed! 

And  4  Conductors  now  assemble: 
But  what  may  furthermore  succeed? 
A  premonition  makes  us  tremble — 

Suppose,  SUPPOSE  the  future  brings 
3  Simultaneous  Nibelung  Rings ! ! ! 


100 


IRENE'S  INFATUATION 

Irene  became  a  Wagnerit'e 

At  quite  a  recent  day; 
And  when  her  fads  begin  their  flight, 
She  follows  all  the  way; 

Just  now  she  thinks  the  earth  was  made 
So  Parsifal  could  be  displayed. 

Irene  reads  volumes,  by  the  score, 

That  bear  upon  this  theme; 
She  skims  through  magazines  galore 
For  Parsifallian  cream; 

The  papers,  too,  though  not  for  news, 
But  pro  and  Con-ried  interviews. 

Irene  hears  lectures,   every  kind — 

With  choir-boys,  with  scenes, 
With  moving  pictures  or  combined 
With  musical  machines: 

Consuming,  hastily,  the  cult, 
Will  mind-dyspepsia  not  result? 

Irene  is  learning,  not  by  note, 

That  weird  and  wondrous  score. 
Sub  rosa-ly,  her  family  vote 
The  opera  is  a  bore  ; 

And  if  announced  for  five  more  times, 
They'll  take  a  trip  to  distant  climes 

Irene's  adorers  look  askance, 

And  more  remote  they  stand ; 
Except  one  youth,  who  sees  the  chance 
To  win  his  lady's  hand : — 

She'll  not  refuse  (he  is  adroit!) 
A  wedding  journey  to  Baireuth. 

101 


PAINFUL  POSSIBILITIES 

Before  the  golden  stars  that  now 

Illume  Grand  Opera's  sky 
In  reverence  we  humbly  bow, 
Their  fame  we  magnify, 

And  (if  we  can  pronounce  the  same), 

We    speak,    with    bated    breath,    each    name. 

But  should  our  reverence  fail  apace, 

That  man  will  be  to  blame 

Who  in  the  advertising  space 

Inserts  each  stellar  name — 

It  fills  adoring  minds  with  dread 
To  find  De  Reszke  billed  as  "Ed." 

Though  printer's  imps  they  may  have  been 

Who  made  the  error  grave, 
Within  the  list  we've  lately  seen 
The  Bispham  nicknamed  "Dave!" 

(And  if  you  can't  believe  these  rhymes, 
You'll  find  it  in  a  Tuesday  Times.) 

So,  if  we  have  "Lou"  Homer  next, 

It  would  not  much  surprise; 
"Lil"  Nordica  might  well  be  vexed, 
If  such  should  meet  her  eyes; 

"Jo"  Gadski  could  not  make  a  hit, 
Though  "Tony"  Scotti  seems  to  fit! 

O  advertiser!  prithee  pause: 

Give  "Edouard"  all  his  meed 
(Though  hard  it  is  to  spell),  because 
In  time  this  thing  may  lead 

To  "Tiny"  Heink  and — shame  of  shames — 
A  culmination  of  "Em"  Eames! 


102 


Slezak 


APROPOS  OF  TWO  SOPRANOS 

Fair  Fremstad  and  Farrar  comparing 
Would   be   a   task,    useless   and    daring; 

So  let  it  be  said 

That  each  beautiful  head 
Its  own  style  of  laurel  is  wearing. 


105 


GERALDINE  FARRAR 

Farrar's  a  flower: 

Freshly  blooms  her  girlish  Marguerite, 
A  wayside  daisy's  timid   grace, 
With  nature's  sunlight  in  its  face, 

So  simple  and  so  sweet. 

Farrar's  a  flower: 

Mimi  seems  a  broken  fleur-de-lis; 
Nedda,  a  scarlet  poppy,  glows; 
Juliet,  a  velvet  damask  rose, 

Unfolds  at  love's  decree. 

Farrar's  a  flower: 

Wistaria,  the  fragrant  counterpart 
Of  iridescent  Butterfly; 
As  fragile  as  a  passing  sigh, 

But  twining  round  the  heart. 


106 


OLIVE  FREMSTAD 

Fremstad — a   flame 

On  an  altar  of  Art: 
No  praise  nor  blame 
Has  marred  the  aim 
To  soar,  apart. 

A  marvellous  glow 

Of  variant  rays; 
From  joy  to  woe 
Great  passions  flow 

In  radiant  blaze. 

O  magic  fire 

Still  upward  dart! 
O  voice — like  a  lyre 
From  the  heavenly  choir- 
Mount  higher,  yet  higher 

On  the  altar  of  Art ! 


107 


A  POSTSCRIPT  TO  YOU 

Kind  Reader  (or,  /  hope,  Dear  Friend)  : 

If,  haply,  you  survive 
To  travel  with  me  to  the  end 
And  at  this  page  arrive, 
I  now  apologize  in  haste 
For   all    that    differed    from    your    taste. 

We  see,  of  course,  with  varied  eyes, 

And  when  we  write  in  jest, 
There's  very  apt  to  be  surprise 
At  what  we  have  expressed; 

But  if  you  print  a  book  some  day, 
I  vow  to  echo  all  you  say! 


1 08 


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